


Thursday Lunch-Break

by rufeepeach



Series: Time Of Day [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 10:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6750619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufeepeach/pseuds/rufeepeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle accidentally pocket dials Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thursday Lunch-Break

His number's set to speed-dial on her phone; Belle doesn't stop to consider this, even as she's adding it in.

She never calls her father - if she needs him, she can find him, and she very rarely does - so Gold is only the second person she's added to the list. Ruby's at the top, but that's more for ease of texting than anything else. She adds Gold just in case. She still hasn't used it.

It's a Thursday when she realises what a mistake it was.

Belle is walking down the street, minding her own business, when there is a hand on her waist. She is about to scream - Storybrooke is a safe town but things to happen - when she recognises the arm, the scent of the man behind her, and relaxes. Gold laughs, low and down her ear, and tugs her into the alley beside Granny's without another word.

They've only been at this a few weeks, and the excitement only seems to grow with every chance encounter. They have their days, of course, their rules, but rules are made to be broken, and Gold revels in doing so. 

He pulls her around a corner, somewhere they won't be seen, and his mouth is on hers and his hand under the back of her shirt before she can think. Not that thinking's a priority right now: he's kissing her so fiercely, like he's burning for her, and she melts in his arms and kisses him back with equal fervour.

"You should wear more blue," he says, by explanation, voice harsh and husky, gesturing to her blue sweater, "It suits you."

"Yeah…" her fingers come to her kiss-swollen lips, as he steps back, away, and straightens himself. She's still not thinking straight, but he's already smirking, and making to leave.

"Have a nice day, Belle," he says, as if they've just discussed the weather or the rent, and disappears on his merry way.

Belle is squirming, too hot and out of her mind, and if she thought he wouldn't mind she'd run after him, jump him, force him to finish what he started. He lights a fire inside her, always, every time, and it's unfair for him to leave her burning.

She walks home in a daze, her mind whirring, imagination run wild on the ways he could have continued, how it could have happened were it not for his goddamn rules.

She throws herself back on her bed, her phone still in her back pocket, and stares at her ceiling.

Gold might be a little older, but she's sure that no one could be better in bed than he is, and she'd not care to find out. It's been a long time since last Sunday, when he spread her out on her bedroom floor and made her bite her own hand to keep from screaming, and alerting her father below.

She'll not be able to concentrate until she does something about this, and going and finding the bastard at work and begging him to finish it is not an option.

So instead, Belle settles herself back on the covers, her head on the pillow, and slides a hand down between her belly and the waist of her jeans. She teases the top of her curls for a moment, brushes her hand along, imagines his hand there, his dark smirk as he sees what his teasing does to her.

She slips her hand down still further, under her knickers, and begins to stroke slowly between her damp folds. She's already wet - one kiss from him, one touch, and she is gasping for him - and begins to slide her hips against her own hand, her finger brushing her clit with every upstroke, and she moves her hand further down, teases at her entrance.

Her phone makes a little noise, but she ignores it, too lost in the sensation between her legs. The heel of her hand is now against her slippery nub, rubbing and rubbing as she slides one finger inside herself, and begins to thrust slowly, teasingly, her own hand no match for his cock but enough for now, enough to send her flying if she imagines its his long, dexterous digit in place of her own slender finger. 

He'd smile at her, ask her what she wants, make her beg for another finger, his tongue, his cock, anything thicker that can drive harder, faster, turn her breathy little whimpers into moans or worse. "Please," she breathes, her eyes squeezed shut and his smile behind them, egging her on. Maybe he'd ask her to do this, if he knew; maybe he'd watch her, stroking his thick cock in his fist and telling her yes, dearie, just to the left, one more finger, twist, tell me how that feels, tell me that you want me, so desperate for me, my perfect, filthy darling, more, come for me, i know you can, come for my voice and your own hand...

"Gold!" she cries out, her hips hammering into her slippery hand as three fingers work in an out of her own pussy, grinding the heel of her palm against her clit until she shouts his name, once more, and comes with her legs trembling, her channel clenching around her inadequate hand, the pleasure making her breathless, sending her flying.

She comes back to earth, and her phone is still making that noise. "Belle?" the voice is amused, and coming right from it.

Her hand is shaking, as she wipes it on her bedclothes and runs the other through her mussed hair. "Shit," she whispers, and picks up her mobile.

"Hello?" she asks, trembling, hoping to God it's not her dad she called.

"I heard my name," Gold tells her, amusement in every word. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" she swallows, "How much did you hear?"

"Oh, enough," he snickers, "although as a tip, you moan louder when you have a cock inside you than just fingers. I think the fit is better, don't you?"

"Oh, god," she groans, and slides down on her bed, hoping to die then and there of embarrassment. "You couldn't just hang up?"

"And not listen to the whole thing?" he asks, in mock shock, "Perish the thought! Did you penetrate yourself, by the way? Or just stroke? I'm curious."

"Three fingers," she tells him, numbly, on the grounds that there is no way that this can get worse. He heard everything anyway. Maybe, if she's lucky, she's at least given him a useless hard-on in the process.

"What were you thinking of?" he continues, slower, lower, and at least now he's as turned on as she was, because she knows that voice. 

"You…" she whispers, "watching me, teasing me. Your voice. You can't just rile me up and cut me loose like that."

"But the results are so enticing," he purrs, "and dirty talk, hm? I must remember that." She can hear his smile, then, when he says, "Perhaps, next time, you won't need to imagine. After all, it's hardly a meeting if it's only on the telephone."

"I'd not be opposed," she grins, thinking of it and already heating up again, the idea of him purring down the phone at her, filthy instructions and compliments and imagery, telling her to touch herself while he does the same unbearably erotic.

"Wonderful," he replies. "And Belle?"

"Yes?"

"Next time, I'd take your phone out of your pocket."

She hangs up before she can hear him laughing at her.


End file.
